


Our Love Lines Written in Indelible Ink

by 3_modes_Ace_Kat



Series: Honey, We're Carving Out Our Place With Metal and Ink [2]
Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Playing fast and loose with pathfinder mechanics, Scarification, Tattoos, tantric casting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3_modes_Ace_Kat/pseuds/3_modes_Ace_Kat
Summary: Oscar Wilde has just escaped "The Cobalt Collective" and he's in the mood to celebrate. The tattoo artist he finds might just fit the bill.
Relationships: Azu/Oscar Wilde (Rusty Quill Gaming), Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom/Oscar Wilde, Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam/Sasha Racket/Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Series: Honey, We're Carving Out Our Place With Metal and Ink [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2176086
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	1. First Meeting

Oscar Wilde walks in to “Love, Hope, & Knives”, such a silly name, still high off telling his bosses exactly where they can shove it, having stolen a ludicrous amount of money completely legally and free for the first time in years.

“The London Times” is a newspaper on its last legs, so full of corruption it can’t even tell it’s corrupted, infiltrated as it had been by the likes of the “The Cobalt Connector”. Oscar had seen the way the wind was blowing, seen the inconsistent stories and dropping readership before most, grabbed as much as he could get away with, and run for the hills. So now here he is, in a clearly recently opened tattoo parlor in a Cairo of all places, getting a tattoo to celebrate his freedom and the new job he’s managed to line up before he fled. It paid to have friends in high places.

A slip of a woman is behind the counter, reading a journal that is clearly labeled ‘Knife Sex Weekly’. There is a stack of journals by her side titled ‘Appraisers Anonymous’. She barely flicks a glance in his direction before raising her voice and calling out “Customer for you, boss.”

“I’m not your boss, we’re joint owners.” The dwarf that comes out from the back room holding a mug of tea grumbles. Oscar takes one look at him and thinks ‘I’m gonna hit on that so hard.’

So Oscar has a type. Sue him. And that type may include short, intense, and grumpy.

“Hello my good man –“

“Zolf Smith.” The dwarf crosses his arms, peering up skeptically.

“Hello my good Zolf” Oscar counters, recovering with aplomb. “I come seeking your finest tattoo please. Some of my friends mentioned that you do special things with them.” Oscar makes sure to waggle his eyebrows, just for the sheer fun of it. He might be a bit more giddy than he’d thought. It was A Lot of money.

Twin utterly unimpressed looks train on him. Its fine, he’s worked with more taciturn audiences before. He gives a flourish of the hand to drive that point home.

“You got any ideas of what you want? Have you even seen my style? Do you even have any?” Zolf asks, pulling a thick binder out from behind the counter. The woman grins sharp and sudden before going back to her magazine.

“All my friends rave about your work.” Okay, so Oscar is laying it on a bit thick; but Carter and Tjelvar and Grizzop did vouch for the man’s work. Tjelvar had even encouraged Eddie to show off the one that spans his back, thick broad lines and solid chunks of color, a testament and prayer to Apollo in golden and sharp black. Then Tjelvar had shown off an intricate linework of the 12 labors of Herakles, all soft shadows and thin lines. It had been a shocking contrast to come from the same person. Grizzop, surprising no one, has the phases of the moon around each ankle, “To guide my steps in a Hunt”, in neat pointillism. Oscar can still remember the goblin’s sharp grin, full of secrets.

“Yeah? Who?” One of Zolf’s white eyebrows raise, as if he doubts that Oscar would be friends with anyone who’d be willing to be tattooed by him.

“Edward Keystone. And Tjelvar Stornsnassen.”

“Yeah. Good guys. Fun tattoos to work on. Very different. So what did you have in mind?” Apparently, being able to name actual customers was a point in Oscar’s favor and he wastes no time in capitalizing on that.

He leans forward over the binder, focusing on the more recent works, similar in tone to Grizzop’s and Tjelvar’s. He’d always wanted something to cover the name on his inner thigh, but had never been sure of what to get. Looking at Zolf now? He definitely wants something complicated; a secret just for him. And if it means the cute tattoo artist has to sit between his legs for hours? That’s just a bonus.

“A quill and inkwell, on top of some books. In this style. On my inner thigh. I have a name there, and I’d like it hidden by the ink.” Despite the previous giddiness, he sounds very certain. It’s something he’s thought about for years now, but never given into because of his position in the newspaper and sentimentality. Now? With his promotion? He has all the chances in the world.

Zolf raises an eyebrow at him but nods agreeably. “Give me an hour or so to draw something up. By the way, before we get started. When I’m done, you won’t be able to close your thighs for about a week, so be ready for that. Clothing will hurt too, generally.”

In response, Oscar tilts his head in confusion. “I thought you healed the skin, made everything easier? Besides, I like spreading my legs.” He winks, again. It seems lost on the dwarf.

“Seems your friends led you astray. I heal the tattoo after a week. It needs the time for the ink to stay. Otherwise, the body rejects it and it’s a complete waste of work.”

Steeling himself, Oscar nods. He’d wanted this too long to back out now.

“Guess I’ll be back in an hour. Ta, loves.” He adds, swanning out the door. Behind him, he could hear the dwarf grumble even as he went and grabbed a sketchpad.

Within several hours, Oscar is getting tattooed. As expected, Zolf is sitting between his legs on a short stool, his metal ankles hooked around the wheels. Placement and Oscar’s general faffing had taken even more time, but Oscar wants, no needs this to be perfect. The buzz of the needle doesn’t startle, and neither does the pain. In fact, it’s better than he expects, a jagged buzzing edge that sets his nerves alight and fills him with creeping warmth. Oscar has always acknowledged his masochistic tendencies, but he doesn’t expect this to be so effective on him. His hips are jerking a little, mindlessly, and Oscar can’t seem to stop himself.

Zolf notices and very gruffly says, "Yeah, that can happen. It's not a problem."

Trying to cover up his complete loss of control, Wilde winks and says, "Would you like it to be?"

"No, I want to give you a good quality tattoo, I don't generally like problems." And that shuts down that line of conversation. They try to move on to other topics. Literature works for a while, simply because they surprise each other with their in-depth of knowledge regarding Harrison Campbell novels. Unfortunately, critiquing the saucier scenes reminds Oscar very viscerally of his own problem. Especially as Zolf gets to work on the feather that’s curling up towards his hip.

Oscar is so hard, and trying not writhe with it. He’s failing miserably and Zolf has to move his hand every few seconds, lest he make a mistake with the linework. Given how delicate it is, it would be incredibly noticeable and that is not on.

Eventually, Zolf gets annoyed and mock glares up at Wilde. “Do I have to hold you down in order to be able to work on you properly?”

It’s meant to be a bad joke, but Wilde flirts desperately. “Yes please hold me down with your strong manly arms.” Zolf starts but gives a little head bob to show he’s game, gesturing Wilde to lean back so he has more room to maneuver. Oscar props the pillow that has magically appeared behind his back, so he can keep watching Zolf’s hands move. Which works right up until one of those broad arms settles across his hips and presses them flat against the table. He tries to give an experimental thrust and gets absolutely nowhere. Which actually makes the situation worse.

Here he is, held down and being hurt by an incredibly attractive dwarf who then proceeds to talk about literature and global politics, and frankly Oscar is shocked he hasn’t come in his pants. He lasts the whole session before running off to the bathroom to jerk off to the feeling of being trapped so effectively on the table, taking care not to get anything on the covering of his new tattoo.

The receptionist gives him an incredibly knowing look as she accepts his money. Oscar just barely manages to not give Zolf his contact info with a flimsy excuse.

Instead, he leaves, walking at a completely normal human paces and then spends the next week jerking off to the feeling of a heavy arm holding him down and mimicking the buzz of the tattoo needle with his strongest vibrator.


	2. Dragon's Prize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar comes back and gets a second tattoo. The process is intense

Oscar thinks he’s doing very well, overall. He goes back to the shop for the healing of his first tattoo, getting to meet the piercing specialist. She is an incredibly lovely orc, tall enough that Oscar has to look up in order to meet her eyes, which is a novelty.

Oscar thinks he’s doing very well right up until he’s seated in that chair, Zolf’s large capable hands spreading a proprietary lotion blend over his tattoo. He misses the pressure right away when Zolf steps back to examine his work critically.

“Well, you’re not rejecting the ink, and everything seems to be healing well. I’m glad you’ve been taking care of it. Let’s get this all healed up.”

The feeling that floods Oscar as Zolf splays a gentle hand over the ink, fingertips brushing just beyond the tattoo is the same one he felt when he’d found those accounts deep in the bowels of the London Times. When he’d known he found his escape hatch and there was no one who would be able to stop him. It was the feeling of standing before Curie and knowing he had a future. That sweep of emotion was followed by a rush of energy like he’d just chugged some Turkish coffee, awake and ready to take on the day.

He realizes he is gasping a little, chasing the feel of Zolf’s hand on his skin. “Are you healings always quite so.. thorough?” He asks, trying to cover, what for he doesn’t even know anymore. He can’t feel any of the aches of spending the last couple of days hunched over dusty research books, straining to read in the dim light. 

The blush that covers just the bridge of Zolf’s nose is more adorable than it has any right to be. “Yeah, well. Some people need it more than others.” He blusters, stepping back.

Oscar wraps the skirt he’d been wearing around his waist slowly, tracing a hand of his hip bone. “I was hoping to talk to you about another tattoo.”

Zolf quirks a brow at him, but tugs his sketchbook close. “Quick of you.”

“It may have been inspired by my recent career change. It’ll have to be a *special* one.” He smirks, booping Zolf on the nose when he scowls.

“How special we talking, you posh dandy?”

“How much do you know about sin rune tattoos?”

Zolf closes the sketchbook, leaning back on muscular hands. “Well now. That’s not something you hear every day.”

“You know what that is?” It’s Oscar’s turn to be surprised. Sin runes in general are a very specialized practice.

Zolf’s eyes shift around the room. “May have... seen one or two in my time. May have studied one. You know how it is... when you travel as much as I do.” He says, gesturing to his two full sleeves, made up of a network of images held together in a sea of constellations.

“Wonderful. I have recently come across a rather intriguing design. Perhaps you can lend your professional expertise?” Oscar pulls out his notebook, extracting a single sheef of paper. It’s carefully preserved, depicting a dragon curling up the page. Instead of scales, tiny runes dot the body.

Zolf takes the page carefully, studying it with intent. “Complicated work that. It’ll have to be a whole day thing. Can’t stop and start such work. Materials are going to be a problem.”

“Can you modify it at all?” The baffled look Zolf gives him rankles a little. “Not the construction, obviously. The color. Of the dragon.”

Zolf sits back, hunching over the design and tracing the edges with a broad finger as he thinks. “What did you have in mind?”

“Brass, for the dragon. And as much of the scalework.”

A deep hum resonates in Zolf’s chest. “Can you get the magical components? I have an alchemist I trust, they can whip up the brass. It’ll take a month at least to pull together everything.”

“Will money help the process along at all?”

“Some. Refinement processes. Finding the right quality of brass, in these quantities tends to be the biggest limiter for most. Cel can refine it for us, they’re brilliant at it, which will help. Money helps with the raw ingredient procurement. There’s a reason most of these tend to be chromatic rather than metallic. And it’ll have to heal the old fashioned way.” Zolf glances at Oscar to confirm that this is acceptable. “Any of my magic after the initial work will interfere with it.”

Oscar’s mouth firms and he nods decisively. There’s few measures that Oscar won’t go to to protect the sanctity of his mind in his new role.

“That’s fine. How much?” Zolf names a sum that he frankly considers ludicrous, but one the work demands. “I’ll bring the money by tomorrow.”

“See you then, Oscar.”

* * *

Oscar spends the next three weeks shamelessly hanging around the parlor, flirting with everyone he can. It’s partially stress relief, partially protecting his investment. The fact that the shop is populated with ridiculously attractive people who are also a joy to be around means that the three weeks pass pleasantly.

Grizzop is the most annoyed with Oscar in the beginning, since the goblin originally thought the man was here to harass Zolf. Apparently, he was rather protective of the cleric. Oscar finds this fact hilarious as Zolf has about 200 lbs and a foot on Grizzop.

To be fair to Grizzop, a little harassment might be involved. Zolf just looks so good when he’s worked up and willing to gesticulate to articulate his point. The three weeks also show Oscar another side of Zolf; the really kind one when someone shy comes in. Zolf will take all the time that is needed to coax the customer to talk, mainly by sitting there and being willing to listen. Oscar finds himself drawn in to helping, asking the necessary pointed questions.

“Thanks.” Zolf says after a particularly taciturn man who is absolutely covered in tattoos under his strict military shirt. There’s a strip of a blush over Zolf’s beard and Oscar is once again charmed. “Barnes can take a while to talk.”

“It was my absolute pleasure, Zolf.” Oscar returns, sprawling himself over the counter to best effect. It sadly gets him nowhere with the cleric, but Azu takes pity on him and invites him to her home. Oscar has a hard time walking the next day and considers is an evening well spent. It also gives him carte blanche to drape himself over Azu, who seems more amused than anything else by the attention. She does take the time to bestow adoring kisses and Oscar finds himself a little in love with her just for that. Her strap doesn’t hurt in the slightest.

The bard even manages to get somewhere with Grizzop by virtue of getting into ridiculous pun battles with Sasha. She’s not the best at them, but their bets are great; ridiculous outings that Grizzop scrupulously supervises. Somehow, it takes Oscar three of these outings to realize they’re dating him. To be fair, his dates usually don’t leave him mauled and wanting in an alleyway, frantically jerking himself as their twin laughter fades onto the rooftops.

He even gets to make out with Cel, the resident alchemist. They babble about the purification process into Oscar’s shoulder even as they leave scratches all along his back.

Despite his success with literally every other member of the little shop, Oscar gets absolutely nowhere with Zolf. Every time he comes in, makes himself at home in everyone’s personal spaces, Zolf just gives him a sweet smile and engages him in some discussion, usually accompanied by homemade food.

* * *

Three weeks later, Oscar walks to “Love, Hope, and Knives” at the appointed time to find the door closed and the curtains drawn. Undeterred, he pushes through to find Zolf laying out his equipment with military precision. The shadowy slip of a woman is there, the goblin and the orc milling off to the side. There is a veritable buffet laid out, cold cuts and yogurts and sweet little treats. Grizzop is hovering near some freshly made jerky, fussing with the placement. Given what Oscar has read about the process, they’re going to go through that entire table of food.

“You ready for this?” Grizzop asks, flitting over to Oscar.

“Yes.” He’s come too far to back out now. Removing the toga he’d been wearing for the last day, Oscar settles on the tattooing table, which had been retrofitted with straps especially for him. The toga is important so that he doesn’t have any places where fabric could dig in and dimple the flesh.

‘The canvas has to be perfectly smooth.’ Zolf had insisted, stroking a hand over Oscar’s hip. Oscar may have jerked off to the memory of that moment that night.

After the last three weeks of diligently rubbing the specialty lotion that Zolf had given him, Oscar’s skin is smooth and plush, with no hair to mar the surface. Hair will never grow there again, after all is said and done.

Sasha and Zolf fuss one last time with placement and orientation, before stepping back and sharing a nod of satisfaction. Then Azu helps Oscar strap himself to the table, while the other two faff with their tools. Grizzop is mainly here for moral support in the beginning.

What follows is a cavalcade of pain. The thing about a sin rune is that it wasn’t exactly enough to tattoo the design in. The outline, the border that contained the design and it’s inherent magic has to be placed first.

Because of the material Oscar has chosen, it involves Sasha’s rock steady hands opening a deep thin line of flesh, in order to embed a flexible piece of purest brass wire as the outline. Even that is enough to have Wilde arching his back in pleasure/pain. He can feel every single claw as the wrap over his hip bones and down his thigh. Thankfully, the outline is mostly magically neutral, which means that Grizzop can dart forward with the healing potion, painting it carefully along the outer edge. The inside has to be magically pure before they can proceed.

That process alone takes a solid 25 minutes, and Oscar is panting by the end, drifting on endorphins and writhing. The straps do their job, holding him tightly in place. Azu sits by his head, wiping the sweat off his face with care.

They give him as break, as agreed before Zolf steps forward. Oscar can see the shimmering fluid in the tattoo gun, tiniest brass flakes suspended in dragon blood and violet black ink. Throwing a quick prayer of thanks to the many years he spent singing his evenings away, Oscar lets his voice rise in a hum, and Zolf joins in a moment later. The other difficulty of a sin rune is the sheer magical power needed to create it. Azu, Grizzop, and Zolf can provide divine portion, but Oscar is going to have to be the one to sustain the arcane aspect.

The pain makes Oscar’s voice waver and he’s helplessly hard but everyone is ignoring it. The worst part is that Oscar jerked off before coming here, in order to avoid this exact scenario. But it looks like his body, or the sheer amount of magic coursing him has other ideas. He settles into the leather of the table as much as possible, focusing only on the songs of his university days, the ones he can keep singing for ages. Zolf’s voice is the background hum of counterpoint, Grizzop’s little foot taps and Sasha’s drumming on her chair provide the rhythm.

Zolf’s magic is golden light and the first scent of morning dew, the bright promise of a world for the taking. Grizzop’s in a direct contrast, bone deep surety of your place in the world and moon stark shafts, the smell of a forest in full bloom. Azu’s melds them together, gives them a sense of harmony they wouldn’t have without her, all incense and the memory of his mother’s hug, the lure of a crowd in full roar, and the sense memory of deep belly laughter and sheets soaked in fluids.

He’s getting dizzy and punch drunk if he’s thinking in poetry. He must let slip a giggle because Zolf sits back, cracking his neck and shaking the feeling back into his fingers. Grizzop is there in a heartbeat, slipping a hand under Oscar’s neck so he doesn’t choke while he drinks. The juice is startling in its bursting sharp flavor.

Zolf’s hand joins Grizzop’s to stroke Oscar’s hair. “You’re doing so well.” Zolf assures as Oscar nuzzles in, enjoying the contact. Sasha’s hand settles on his throat, and Sasha’s smile is razor sharp as she watches him swallow against the pressure. Grizzop and Zolf pull back as she leans down to gives him a biting kiss, full of rich promise. Azu replaces her, and Oscar feels so ridiculously loved, the locus of so much intense attention. Her hands span his chest completely, and he’s far too caught up by the look on her face to enjoy the contrast, to watch her pushing him flat on the table.

She leans down and gives him a deep kiss of her own. Upside and with tusks adds a new dimension and Oscar hums his joy against her lips, chasing the sweet taste as she pulls back.

Zolf’s hand leaving a sharply outlined hand print on his opposite thigh drags Oscar back to the whole point of this project.

“Don’t get too into that, Wilde. We’ve still got work to do.”

“I would never risk your ire.” Oscar feels loose and floaty and he can’t help the wriggle of joy as he gets to flirt shamelessly with Zolf.

Zolf’s responding grin is so sweet it makes Oscar’s knees weak. The hand tracing its own outline might be helping matters. “I know you wouldn’t. Ready to keep going?”

“Yes.” Oscar tries to melt into the plush surface, with limited success. The buzz of the needle starts up again, the conductor’s cue, and Oscar throws his head back to resume his performance.

The second dive into that strange blend of ecstasy is harder but no less welcome. Sasha takes over Zolf, and her touch is less experienced, a heavier hand that draws more blood. Azu’s kisses, Grizzop’s snuck caresses are a direct counterpoint to the drilling pain. Zolf stands to the side, stretching out his arms and back, letting his shirt ride up as he bends backwards. He hasn’t stopped humming, and Oscar can feels Zolf’s magic as surely as the others. He doesn’t feel alone. In the coming years, Oscar only has to stroke the dragon’s head to replay this sense memory, preserved perfectly in his memory. He will never be abandoned again.

They take another break and Oscar is allowed to stand up and walk around. The metal shifting under his skin feels strange, half a degree above skin warm. It feels alive, the violet black ink accented with brass shifting as if the dragon is breathing. Oscar can’t sit. Given the placement, he won’t really be able to sit for at least a week. Thankfully, most of his work can be done on his back, papers spread out and within easy reach.

The others drift around the refreshments table, but the throb of divine magic doesn’t fade in the slightest. It follows Oscar to the bathroom, keeps him wrapped up, aware and attached to all of them, even Sasha, despite her not adding any overt magic to the mix. Instead, her presence is a counterpoint, sharpening the sensations. He debates getting off, but Oscar is inherently aware that it will accomplish nothing other than soreness. Aphrodite is involved in this. Sex is her domain.

Oscar instead uses the time to admire the detail work. He can feel the hum of power from the work. He knows that once the wings are inked in, that will seal the work, make is as unobtrusive as any other tattoo. He wants to touch it badly, but refrains. The call of his… group? Entanglements? Is more of a lure. So he follows their siren call, back to the table. Grizzop is the one to bind him this time, since Oscar’s hands are too shaky.

Zolf steps up and cradles Oscar’s face. They touch foreheads and energy blooms between them, welcome and needed. Sealing his work with a kiss, Zolf settles once more between Oscar’s thighs to finish his work. For the last time, Oscar raises his voice. His throat is sore but that isn’t relevant. They have to finish.

The thrum of magic peaks. Golden yellow and blush pink, silver white underscored with shadow sink into the wings, and the feeling of power concentrated fills the shop. The last step is one more outline, in pure blackwork this time, to close the working. As the tattoo needle steadily moves along, Oscar can feel the power draw in, settle under his skin. This particular configuration is not meant to be attention grabbing, and it knows that. The dragon, a living magical working now, entrenches into his flesh, carrying with it the misdirection and protection that these people seek to put on him.

As the last note fades, Oscar passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rough idea of Oscar's second tattoo:  
> https://www.brainyreaders.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/Dragon-1.jpg
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be porny. I don't know what happened.

**Author's Note:**

> Ref for Eddie’s tattoo, but dif colors: https://www.deviantart.com/blackmantra-ink/art/Mask-of-the-Gods-836741997  
> For Tjelvar’s:  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ0xDWbn5uD/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CDlOHXKF9kr/  
> For Oscar’s : https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ6U925n1Cd/


End file.
